Black White Grey
by BballSnipergirl23
Summary: This was something I had written with the influence of Edgar Allen Poe for a project in a class. Here is the website if you care to look at the rest of the research on him:


Storms. I hate storms. They are so grim and dark. There hasn't been a day since I moved here that a storm hasn't shown up. Black. White. The mix of black and white . . . grey. That's all I can see though.  
Black like death is always lurking. Black. Death. They are both the same on my eyes. Haunting every time I blink. Every corner I turn. Its always there awaiting the perfect moment to swallow my vision, my being entirely. That I may go crazy thinking in the last moments that I never existed. It's always around me now too. It's all around this city. It sits in anticipation of the day I make the mistake. The mistake that will tell death where I am.  
White to show . . . tease that I'm barely living. There is very little of it around to show that death is in fact near. I'm alive living in a lie I've laid out for my own sanity. White. Suppose to represent a sense of safety. Goodness. After death, heaven. Though it would be a miracle to make it to Purgatory after what I've done. Therefore, the little white I see is there to taunt and torment my eyes, my being.  
The mix of them together seemingly making up my mood, an emotionless man in a shell. Grey was always explained as a depression state. One where only sadness dwells. I have also found though that it reminds me off all the loss I now face. Back on the countryside there was only the lighter of greys, bright and vibrant. Now it's only the dark shades to keep on reminding me of all my loss for the rest of the time I saunter.  
Black. White. Grey. That's about all my eyes come to see. Tragic really. I actually hate these colors the most in the spectrum. So dismal. My favorite color is actually yellow, at least I think. The sun is yellow, I've been told, but it seems I'm cursed to never see the sun either. Here in London, it's constantly dark. I sometimes forget when the morning ends and night begins. If it's not cloudy, it's raining. I wish I could go back to the countryside where there were lighter colors of grey and white and death wasn't seen until the sun _meurt_. I couldn't go back though not since . . .  
_Crack!_  
I grip my chest, feeling my heart beat now racing from being startled by the thunder.  
"I hate this place." My small, little space that I hate just as much, but is the best I could get in a city such as this. One that didn't cost that much with the little use I had not long ago, only for temporary settlement when work required my presence, which was rarely. However, it's now my personal residency with my few assets that I had stowed away here.  
The desk of old mahogany that came with this apartment against the wall, its now where all my lively hood happens. Yet at the moment a singular piece of white paper sits, awaiting my wishes. Only a few things accompany the paper, a black ink well and grey goose quill where they shall sit and wait for the time I need to write some final thoughts. The only other thing to be on my desk is my silver dagger with different gems of different grays and blacks covering the handle. The use of it I still haven't decided, but it shall lie there until I opt a solution.  
My room isn't much after my old, dark desk. Also occupying my room is where I reside for the night. A four-poster oak bed with cheap fabric pinned back for the day. The single bed does very poorly with keeping me safe from the evil of the night. Keeping out the terrors that keep me up at night.  
To attend the haunting nightmare filled trap are two small stands. Holding the few possessions I keep here. Clothes all matching in quality in my eyes. Pants. Shirts. Among other garments that are unmentionable. It also hold the liquid of life. It use to make me feel giddy, but not anymore. Now it's a painkiller. Helps me forget everything. Responsibilities. What I have done . . .  
_Crack!_  
My vision is overtaken by the white from the lightning. Recollection of the past begins. The last bottle of Scotch half empty in my hand, I can almost feel how far gone my mind was at that time. Then she came, excited about something, but never said once she saw my state of being. An argument then ensued. The bottle slipped from a hand, either her or mine I can't recall. Before it spilled upon the tiles . . .  
_Crack!_  
Shaking my head I find myself backing into my desk accidently hitting the dagger and slicing my hand. "Blast it all!" Bringing my hand to inspect the damage done. Nothing out of the ordinary, until the blood began to flow, even then it wasn't as terrible as it felt. A stinging feeling that never seems to leave. I look out at the old gothic architecture in our 19th century city once more. As I try to focus on a different spot in the city dots of black and grey overtake my vision everywhere I turn. Once my sight clears more I finally stare at my greatest possession I own. Passed from generation after generation treasure from the late 16th century, a knight's suit of armor. One that symbolized my family's traits. A classic set with a shield, but instead of a sword it held a flail up. "Oh this armor needs a nice shining soon," stroking and looking at the dirt, "Hopefully within the next couple of days. I must make a list next."  
_Crack!_  
As a sliver of lightning bolt strikes, it blinds my sight with crystal, clear white images of her. My hands . . . a dark foreign substance covering them. Echoes of distress went unanswered as I was already out the door into the darkness of the night. As the light fades I'm on my knee on the ground. Lifting my hands I find my mark of weakness upon the ground. As if something burned my internal soul I spring to my feet.  
I was a man who once had the world at his fingertips. The world in his palm would be too much of an understatement. Everything was wonderful, however now, I'm being hunted for retribution. I watch out over the drowning city wondering if he was still out there.  
_Creek!_  
"Hum?"  
I hear from behind. Yet nothing was a moment out of place. Neither was the city though. No matter what happens it always stays the same no matter if I am asleep or go for food. The sky just continues to cry for this God forsaken city or for my fate.  
_Creek!_  
"Oh that blasted draft again." The breeze throughout this entire complex is appalling. Times in the night I've awoken to my door slightly a jarred. Every time my heart almost has fallen out of my chest and upon the floorboards. But that's not the worst of this place . . .  
_Clack! Clack! Bang!_  
"Must be those blasted neighbors and . . ." anger's sudden disappearance just leaves me to calmly say, "their children." The echo of the neighbors all around me has been just as daunting as the air. The echo of the pounding steps though, I have found makes a chilling melody with the rain. One that never ceases to fail at capturing my being. A melancholy melody, to whisk me away to a nightmarish, never land, of torture, and insomniac slumber.  
_Crack_!  
Light once more comes across my vision with her reaching out to me. Her words playing across her lips, 'We are with child.' But the life in her eye, flowed out from her neck. Blinking again I loose the memory as I drop to the ground again.  
"The damned fool in me!" I scream clutching my hair and finding something wet begin to run through my hair into my face. The wound present on my hand must've reopened. Leaking . . . dripping black now onto the carpet leaving yet another stain.  
How could I stand after that last moment. The most haunting of all. The main imagery to keep my eyes awake to stay open, to not close, to not even blink.  
_Clink! Bang!_  
I brace myself against my desk at the unexpected blare of sound. The knight? The knight's arm fell? The one holding the flail? What why? It's never done that before? What is going on? What is happening?  
_Crack!_  
Lightning again blinds me. This time screams of pain and agony, but not in the cords of a female, but male. His screams of promises . . . cursing me as I fled.  
"No. No. No!" I shriek, pulling myself up the best I could with my disabled hand, to only see something more distressing . . . the dagger. Where is the dagger?  
"Dagger? Where's the dagger! Where is it?" The window. The window shows nothing, revels nothing to its location . . . I must leave.  
"You looking for this?"  
That voice . . . is all I could think before shearing pain runs hastily through my mortal being.  
"Y-you . . ." I try to speak, but the air that passes through my throat seems to cause more burning, more pain than the blade he holds.  
"You didn't think you could escape me after what you did?" Him. It was him. He finally found me. "I loved my sister. I knew she didn't deserve a spoiled boy like you. Yet, she saw something in you and in the end that killed her."  
A new place of stinging appeared, one so intense I could feel his emotions. The fire, that hatred it was prevalent. I should've been more careful. Now I leave my death to the hands of a different kind of monster.  
"Now I won't give you the satisfaction of having your name ever live on in this world." I was suppose to be the one to kill off my own mistake. Not to be destroyed and mangled by a hunter such as this. "The name of your family shall die with the embarrassment of you."  
Another twinge emerges in the middle of my chest, as black pools out to drench the greys of the carpet.  
"Goodbye," that familiar voice now echoing around my place. It seems at rest, as I now lay on the ground. He's gone. The dagger left beside me. The piece of paper, from the desk, also lying beside me. I feel myself choking and loosing life from each hole in my body. I bring the paper to my face to write the last of somewhat conscious thoughts. My black ink on my fingers writes, 'I did it. I killed them.'  
Slowly, grey and white are becoming irrelevant. Grey. Mood. White. Life. Now. Now everything I saw became the only thing I hate the most to see, but the most sought after. Everything I saw became only Black.


End file.
